


(Quoth the raven) “Nevermore”

by LinneanSpora314



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Spoilers for Episode: Face the Raven, The Doctor's pain!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:52:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneanSpora314/pseuds/LinneanSpora314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of "Face the Raven". </p>
<p>The Doctor has come to his senses, or has he really? He is cold, and alone, all is not okay. </p>
<p>He is not even sure it will ever be okay again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Quoth the raven) “Nevermore”

With a start, he felt his whole being come back into consciousness - the jarring, vivid thoughts of a powerful timelord, reawakened. The Doctor blinked open his eyes in desperate confusion. “Clara!” He heard his own voice reverberate through the ever-vibrating molecules of air all around him. 

It was only then that he remembered.

His call will not be answered. And nevermore, shall it be answered. 

“Oh Clara…” His let his face freely contort in torment. “My Clara… what did you do?”

“WHAT HAVE I DONE??!” He screamed into the nothingness, wild-eyed and delirious, silvery eyebrows glistening with lingering teardrops. He wiped the droplets away with his purple sleeve. Yet time and time again, he could not stop the corners of his eyes refill with that warm, stubborn moisture. 

5.7 milliseconds later, only the echoes of his own voice answered back in return.

He shrunk into the corner of the room in which he had found himself. A stray blue light emanated from somewhere deeper within the premises. 

For once, he did not follow that light; for once, the mystery of exploration no longer thrilled him. Despite the expanse of his brain, right now he was numb to all senses save that of pain. His memory was oblivious to the thousands of years of existence that had gone before - in his mind’s eye all he could see was the lone figure of Clara Oswald, standing there, slight and vulnerable, with arms outstretched, in the face of the winged menace. He could still hear that heart wrenching scream now, riding waves of sound down that dimly lit alleyway. 

He pulled up his knees, and sat there cowering, and sobbing with his face buried between the folds of velvet. 

He inhaled a little deeper - he swore he could still smell the remnants of her scent - thanks to the molecules of perfume she had transferred to his coat the last time they hugged. His brain immediately informed him it had been approximately 3.6 hours in real time since they had… since she… 

Then both of his hearts took over, and threatened to shatter into innumerable fragments, one for every time he had ever said her name. 

Of course he blamed himself, and he knew that he would carry forth this guilt for the rest of this life, and onwards through regenerations hence. Unlike Ashildr, he did not have the luxury of a finite memory. How could he be so reckless, with all of time and space at his fingertips how could he not keep her safe? No, _he_ had taught her thus, and given her the thrill of life and the wondrous universe at her feet… and now thanks to this stupid man with the blue box, she had gambled away with her soul. 

Why did he not pay more attention? The Doctor berated himself with as much venom as he could muster. Based on his knowledge of Clara’s character he knew he could have and _should have_ foreseen that she would be daft enough to suggest the switch! He could have stopped her…

But he could have stopped her earlier than that… He should have locked her in the Tardis. 

She should not have come in the first place. 

Really in the end, he should not have come into her life at all. 

 

********

And there he sat, still staring blankly at the opposite wall. If looks could penetrate then there would already be a gaping hole right where his gaze had rested.

He knew that only Time could dilute the intensity of his feelings. Oh how he wished he could skip past the torture of the Meanwhile… Seven stages of grief the human scientists claimed, he envisaged and resigned himself to a lengthy period of being stuck somewhere dark and desolate between stages 1,2.

Ever unhelpful, his brain chose this moment to tell him that based on the rate of diffusion of Clara’s scent, it was now 7.3 hours later. 

He had never felt more alone. “You won’t like it” Clara was right, he didn’t, he hated it. But his own timeline, continued relentlessly forwards. 

This won’t do, he mutters indignantly to himself. Thrusting his hands into his infinitely deep pockets he pulls out the sonic sunglasses and sets them on the bridge of his nose… These will have to go, he made a mental note to himself. Far too frivolous, given the circumstances. At least, at least now no one will see how much he had been crying his eyes out. 

Shakily he got back onto his feet, and peered through the flashing coordinates through his freshly, sonically-upgraded field of view. 

He had to get out of here. He had to go on. He had to be the Doctor — for that was her final order.


End file.
